


FR Clan Lore Dump

by jified



Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-10-30 23:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17837858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jified/pseuds/jified
Summary: Assorted drabbles/stories about my FR clan.





	1. Starting Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I mean, when I said that, I wasn’t exactly implying you should pack up and fly over the ocean.”
> 
> (bakula and aachnor, before the clan.)

It’s in the middle of the day, sunlight reflecting off icicles and footsteps sunk into blankets of ice, when Bakula turns to him and says, “I want to leave.”

“Huh?” is Aachnor’s (logical and reasonable) response.

“I said,” says Bakula, with a type of detached impatience he usually reserves for the elders, “I want to leave. Go somewhere else. I was thinking The Shifting Expanse.”

Aachnor blinks.

“You’re going to die,” he says succintly.

“No, I won’t,” says Bakula, with the absolute certainty of an idiot who doesn’t know his mortality. Aachnor narrows his eyes at him.

“You’re an idiot who doesn’t know his own mortality,” he says, because it was a good, well-strung together thought, and he would very much like to share it with aforementioned subject of such thoughts.

“Whatever,” Bakula responds flatly, rolling his eyes. “Fancy words you got there. Reading the dictionary again?”

“Yes,” says Aachnor.

Bakula stares at him. And then doesn’t, because he turns away, presumably due to his inability to stomach looking at Aachnor any longer. Aachnor, for his part, feels a deep sense of pride in himself. Woo. Go him. Annoyed Bakula _again_ , great job.

“I think reading a dictionary would do you some good,” Aachnor says conversationally, because he might as well keep the train going. “Have you ever-“

Bakula’s starting to walk away, now, but Aachnor isn’t going to let that stop him.

“Have you ever, maybe, considered going into a library,” says Aachnor. “Read a word. Learn to spell. Pray to the Arcanist and hope that-“

“I know your egg prematurely cracked,” mumbles Bakula, and Aachnor’s not entirely sure if it was meant for his ears. Probably was, because Bakula does enjoy insulting others. “I _know_ it,” repeats Bakula, louder and more vehemently this time.

So yes. Aachnor was definitely meant to hear that.

“I think if you read a book,” he continues speaking, blithely ignoring Bakula and charging on mindlessly. “That it would truly enrichen your life. Maybe you would finally be able to finish that piece of tech you’ve been working on for sooo long, I swear, the elders will be fossils by then-“

“I finished it,” cuts in Bakula. Aachnor stops in his tracks.

“Huh?” he says articulately, the obvious, perfect picture of a dragon who read a dictionary front to back. Then he has to start scrambling to catch back up, following Bakula through the piles of snow. White scatters and stains his wings, as Aachnor catches up to Bakula’s slow trudge. “You mean you-“

“I just need one more part,” Bakula interrupts again. He does enjoy limiting Aachnor’s speech whenever possible. “But I can’t find it here.”

Aachnor has to physically stop himself from, well, stopping.

“Here?” he repeats. Bakula gives him a dirty glance.

“Are you a hatchling all over again?” he asks. “Maybe you should reread the dictionary, since apparently you’ve absorbed a total of zero vocabulary from it.”

“Shut up,” says Aachnor, a reflex at this point. Then, “Keep talking.”

“Pick one,” Bakula scoffs. But he talks, anyway. “I need one more part. I know it’ll work. It’ll be done. But I can’t finish it here, because the stupid elders-“

“Hey,” Aachnor says, but nothing more because, yeah. The elders are kinda stupid. Bakula barrels on, not even acknowledging Aachnor’s brief speech.

“-aren’t bothering to stock up on anything outside this dumb, snowy, terrain of crap,” he says, kicking up white fluff absently. It falls, slowly. “I can probably get what I need, real easy, at The Shifting Expanse, though.”

Aachnor doesn’t speak for a moment. Processes Bakula’s words.

“You really are an idiot,” he says, finally. “You’re seriously going all the way there just to finish up some second-rate machine?”

Bakula bristles.

“You were all for it, the other day,” he snaps. “All, ‘ooh, Bakula, wouldn’t it be so cool if you finally finished that thing you were working on?’ and blah blah blah. Where’d that bravado go, huh?”

“I mean,” says Aachnor. “When I said that, I wasn’t exactly implying you should pack up and fly over the ocean.”

There’s a short silence.

“Also, I don’t sound like that,” adds Aachnor. Bakula snorts.

“Like a whiny, entitled brat?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, seems like you agree too,” says Bakula. And then he starts trodding faster. “Hurry up, the snowfall’s getting heavier.”

“Huh? Uh- wait, um yeah, hold on,” Aachnor stammers, and pushes through the snow, trying to catch up. Bakula’s earlier sentence isn’t helping matters, though, and Bakula’s always been a fast walker when he wants to be.

“Agree? Agree...” Aachnor mutters, stumbling through the snow. Then a figurative lightbulb flashes over his head, or so Aachnor’d imagine Bakula’d say. That little gearhead, and everything. “That’s not what I was saying ‘yes’ to, you a**!”

Bakula doesn’t turn around from where he’s trotting through the snow in front of him. Aachnor’s not sure he heard him at all, actually.

He doubles his steps. Icewarden damn it, but it’s hard to catch up.


	2. Taking Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me to leave with you.”
> 
> (set one week after starting steps)

One week later, Aachnor finds an organised den and Bakula standing next to an empty bag.

 

Both things are rather alarming. The former because it’s Bakula and Aachnor who share this tiny cave, and it’s never clean. It’s like one of those “college fraternities” they have in Arcane (what with their actual education system or something), in that it’s an utter mess and everything is kinda disgusting. So the fact that it’s currently not in that state...

 

The latter is alarming because. Well.

 

The thing is this: Aachnor and Bakula have been masterfully avoiding the subject of Bakula’s wanderlust. They change the topic. A lot. Or just straight up don’t mention it. Aachnor figured it’d be like another one of Bakula’s flights of fancy, where he idly imagines himself leading a clan and having power or whatever. Hah. Fat chance.

 

Unfortunately, this one doesn’t seem to be the case.

 

“You’re leaving?” Aachnor asks, and winces at how it comes out like a girl finding her boyfriend cheating on her. Bakula stares at him for a long moment, and there’s a split second where Aachnor wonders if he’s even going to dignify him with a response.

 

“...Yes,” Bakula says. Aachnor opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

 

“Oh,” he says dumbly, like a dumb idiot. The look Bakula gives him is almost scathing, and Aachnor starts feeling very, very small.

 

“I told you this already,” Bakula says. “Learn to listen.”

 

“I won’t and never will listen to anything in my entire damn life,” responds Aachnor, the banter coming instinctually to him, but Bakula doesn’t reply. He just turns away.

 

“Trust me, I am well aware of that.”

 

Aachnor is silent. He blinks owlishly at Bakula, who has preoccupied himself with packing. In goes his toiletries, then his travel foods, and a bunch of other essentials, and-

 

“Are you really going to fit everything in that tiny bag,” asks Aachnor, but it doesn’t come out like a question. More dull, flat, with an extra layer of “oh shit, you’re really doing this, oh shit, you’re going to _die_ ”.

 

“Do you think I’m doing this without a plan?” Bakula snaps. Aachnor falls silent.

 

So many arguments, and so many things to say. Aachnor has about a thousand ways to phrase one point in his head, but somehow, he thinks that none of them’ll work. He stares, helpless, at Bakula as he packs up his things.

 

Thinks of Bakula, when they were hatchlings. Together. Bakula trotting ahead, Aachnor one step behind. Bakula and Aachnor, working together on Bakula’s projects, sharing a den, snapping at each other over the stupidest things then curling up together for warmth the same night.

 

Aachnor’s not sure when he stopped being able to imagine himself alone. And it’s terrifying. Terrible. Terri...bad.

 

Bakula places his last belonging into his pack. The sound of the zipper is loud and grating. He stands up straight, pack slung over his shoulder, and turns to Aachnor. His eyes, snow white and bearing the colours of the Icewarden, meet with Aachnor’s. A slight hue’s worth of difference, but both undoubtedly from the same deity.

 

There’s one thing, Aachnor knows, that might stand a chance. It’s embarrassing, and humiliating, and Aachnor will never live this down-

 

(If Bakula leaves, though, it’s not like he’ll ever hear it again.)

 

“I don’t want you to leave,” Aachnor blurts out. Bakula blinks, slow, like the icecaps in the surrounding sea.

 

“You’ve made that clear,” he says. “What with the whole, ‘oh, you’ll die, idiot’ thing.”

 

“Me,” says Aachnor.

 

Bakula stares.

 

“Leave me,” Aachnor manages to rush out, stumbling over his words. Heat burns his cheeks, and Aachnor wants to leave and never come back. He can suddenly understand Bakula’s desire, now.

 

“Don’t leave me,” is what eventually makes it out of his mouth.

 

It’s official: Aachnor wants to die.

 

He’s burning up, as he gazes into Bakula’s eyes, and acts just like some pathetic teenager with a crush. Damnit, he’s not a teenager with a crush. Because first of all, he’s not a teenager, and second-

 

“Wow,” says Bakula, “you’re acting just like a teenager with a crush.”

 

Aachnor snaps, “Shut up, Bakula.”

 

There’s a momentary pause. During it, Aachnor thinks long and hard about how he showed emotional vulnerability. Why do other dragons do this. It is absolutely the worst experience in Aachnor’s life.

 

“I mean,” says Bakula. “You don’t have to stay.”

 

Aachnor blinks.

 

“Because I-“ and then Bakula cuts himself off. He looks away. “Nevermind.”

 

“Wait, no,” protests Aachnor. “I don’t get to bare out my innermost feelings-“

 

“You said like, three words.”

 

“- _my_ _innermost_ _feelings_ , and have you turn away all cool-like and say shit like ‘nevermind’. Speak your mind, you _useless_ _dumbass_.”

 

“You’re one to talk,” Bakula says, and Icewarden, Aachnor can physically feel the deflections coming. “How long did it take you to even say-“

 

“Bakula.”

 

For once in his entire life, Bakula shuts up.

 

And Aachnor looks into Bakula’s eyes, the colour a gift from the Icewarden, and says, “Tell me to leave with you.”

 

(Aachnor could write a book, honestly. Emotions Made Easy for the Reticent Dragon, by Your Longsuffering Best Friend. Really, though, Aachnor would benefit more from reading it himself.)

 

Bakula looks back, and swallows.

 

“Come with me,” he says, and Aachnor nods.


End file.
